Widsiþ
by TenTenD
Summary: The daughter of Lord Stark, descendant of kings, bartering like a common fishwife. The gods were laughing themselves silly, she did not doubt. "I will be forever grateful to you." To his face. In her mind she was quite content to curse him to the devil. "I will do my best by you, Your Grace, to see that my debt is repaid."
1. Chapter 1

"I simply find it strange, is all," Lyanna spoke over Brandon's protests, eyeing the letter from King's Landing with no small amount of distrust. "To think, this link has existed for a long time. Black Alys has been dead for many a year. Did this knowledge somehow disappear for so long a time only to reappear, so conveniently, might I add, now?"

"You are a suspicious little thing," her father said, admiration shining through. "It will serve you well." Lyanna shrugged in reply to that. "Nevertheless, your brother is correct; to decline the invitation would cast us in poor light."

"I had no intention of suggesting we refuse." That was not entirely true. But then, her father need not know every single one of her thoughts. He certainly did not need to know what she'd gathered on the illustrious figure of the well-beloved Crown Prince's son last his path led him to them. Despite that, if her father was determined that she drag herself through a year or two at court, she would accept that. "I was merely wondering as to the reason behind such an unexpected invitation."

"Come now, you know as well as I that the Crown Prince's son remains unwed." For good reason. "If the Queen should offer a favourable look, it would not go amiss."

"He is ill, father; very, very ill, if rumours hold true." And no wonder. It was just what he deserved for his philandering ways. A man ought to grow up at some point. The Crown Prince's son had not done as much; she hadn't the inclination to look kindly upon those who refused to face reality anymore than she took to deserters fleeing the Wall. Lyanna could barely abide a frolicsome nature in her own brothers, let alone in a man she must share her life with. "I should think it more an insult if marriage were offered."

"Might be they mean to wed one of the younger sons off. In any case," Brandon spoke rather loudly, "this is not what is most important. You need not make any promises of that nature and shall have the excuse of an absent guardian until the eve of the new year should any unscrupulous cad press his suit."

"I do not know about cads," she offered in a relaxed manner. "I do, however, know that father might not agree with you." He was the one who had brought up marriage, after all, not she. Her lips compressed in mutinous challenge; daring her sire to deny it.

"'Twas my meaning you should not be insensitive should such an opportunity rear its head. Not at all that you ought to encourage any attentions." Not that encouraging attentions would change the course of fate. He knew as much. It was simply not fated that she capture the attention of a claimant to the throne. "We are understood then; you leave for King's Landing upon the new turn."

"If that is your wish, lord father, of course I am." She had no true objection to raise and her brother seemed almost eager to have her gone; presumably as he would soon have a bride to occupy his days with and a head-strong opinionated sister posed a threat all of its own.

"And glad I am for that. Brandon, leave us. I've a few matters to broach which needn't interest you." That too was most interesting. Lyanna smoothed a hand over her skirts. She prepared herself, if only because the painful squeeze of her stomach signalled the potential for troublesome requests rearing themselves. Her brother acquiesced and left her and father to their talk. "Your aunt will be there; I take it there is little need to remind you of your promise."

"I haven't even the faintest inclination to compete with her," she replied without much thought. Aunt Branda had soured long years past and whatever the cause of their current correspondence, it was unlikely that her ire had passed. "In any event, I am not her sister and have naught to gain by goading her."

Father's brow furrowed. "Do not speak such of your mother. She was a kindly woman." Except to her sister whom she could not suffer at her side for one reason or another. That, indeed, was a curious point of view. She chose not to pursue the line, however.

"Apologies, father; I did not mean any insult. Aunty has nothing to fear of me. I am going to court by request not desire and do imagine whatever Her Majesty's reason for calling me forth, it shall find quick solution."

"Would that I were as optimistic. I'd no wish to ask before your brother but are you certain you've no need of one of your brothers. I can write to Jon Arryn. He will spare Ned." A smile blossomed upon her lips, yet she shook her head.

"Poor Ned. He would not refuse, that I know. But what good would it do? Nay; I shall see you come the new year. Truly, father, I can survive."

He chuckled. "There was never any question of that." He patted his knee in invitation, a gesture Lyanna remembered well from her early youth. She accepted it and moved from her seat, throwing her arms around him in a loose embrace. "But you cannot fault an old man for wishing to know his daughter safe."

Warmed, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. Stubble scratched her lips and chin. "I should worry too, if you were leaving us." It would be absurd to resent love and care. She'd heard the argument made that it was a mark of disrespect for her father to fret so about her. But he fretted for all his children, and she much doubted he harboured disrespect for his offspring as such. "I will write, and you will know that I am well."

"One takes what one can. I daresay, you must not forget to write though. I take it as a promise."

"It is a promise, father. I shall write as often as I can." Though she did not doubt there would be much to keep her otherwise engaged. Still, it cost her nothing to give him her word.

* * *

Rhaegar paused, his pace faltering. His eyes strayed towards the end of the hallway, but to no avail. The shadows yielded naught forth. He sighed. Arthur placed a hand on his shoulder, distracting him from the flickering flames. "We don't have to be here." The unfortunate thing was they were the only ones waiting without. He said as much to his friend.

"I cannot leave him to suffer alone." And to think he had arrived in an unplanned manner and might have well happened upon the scene when only a pyre might be required.

The Dornishman did not release him. "As to that, it does you credit. But I doubt any man would wish himself beset with spectators at his deathbed." His friend had a way of putting such matters into perspective. Nevertheless, Rhaegar shook his head. "What good will our lingering do? The ravens have been sent. 'Tis not your burden to bear."

Certainly not, after his last encounter with his uncle that was clear. Rhaegar agreed in so far; he hadn't a duty to Aegon the man. Aegon his kin, however, had yet to release him from his obligations. He gave no decipherable answer to his companion. Thus, it surprised him little when Arthur produced even more words. "This is a bloody horrible situation. We might refrain from making it worse."

"If you fear an adverse response so much, you may make for King's Landing on your own." After all, he had a dragon, a considerable advantage over the horse-riding entourage insisting upon joining him.

"You are being deliberately obtuse," his friend accused, finally pulling back his hand, only to cross his arms over his chest. "Is it not enough that Duncan takes every opportunity to belittle you? Must you give him further cause? For make no mistake; he will see your presence at his brother's bedside as cause enough."

His father's namesake, Duncan the Younger wielded considerable power at court. Since his elder brother's inadequacies became well known throughout the kingdoms, he had attempted and succeeded to fill in the empty spot Aegon left behind, with the understanding that he was, effectively, his father's heir. That was to say, Aegon would most probably never wed, never have sons of his own; he would never even livelong beyond the first flush of youth, if his current state was any indication. Naturally, Duncan the son had forged himself a path to what would soon be his official position.

Rhaegar did not resent that. He hadn't a right to. Having been born the first grandson of the King's second son, there was scant option for him other than to accept his position with dignity. There was always the option of railing at fate, rebelling at its callous treatment and visiting grief upon those close to him; and he had considered his distaste for that particular path when he dared face the serpents living within him at length.

He did, however, begrudge Duncan the ease of his loathing. The whole situation would be much easier to bear if he were convinced his mere existence was a reasonable motive to shoulder the blame for Aegon's current situation. Unfortunately, Rhaegar did not see quite what Duncan meant when he stared with baleful eyes at him.

"You worry too much," he finally replied, shaking his head lightly. It was an unfortunate situation, that one could not show interest in one's kin without the threat of suspicion looming ahead. But it was, and he could do little but accept it and move on.

"And you never do enough worrying." Arthur sat upon the bench, leaning his head back against the wall. Despite his nagging, he would stay; or so indicated his actions.

The door to his cousin's chamber creaked open and the maester's head poked out. "The fever broke." Relief wrapped itself around Rhaegar, in spite of knowing the miracle would be short-lived. "Will Your Grace be staying, after all?"

"It would be best, I daresay."

"In that case, the rooms have been readied, Your Grace."

"I should like to see my uncle."

* * *

The Queen was not at all what Lyanna would have expected. For some odd reason, despite her Blackwood origins, her mind had forever associated her with Prince Aegon. But nay; her look called to mind more a starless sky than an autumnal field. The Crown Prince's wife was the one who had given Aegon his features. Lyanna straightened herself, not entirely ignorant of the speculative gaze the two levelled upon her.

"You needn't be so formal," Queen Betha assured. "My good-daughter and I are not in the habit of resenting a bit of disarray."

Jenny of Oldstones nodded her agreement. She had caused quite the stir when she'd wedded the Crown Prince. One would expect her to be a great beauty, at the very least, or possess an aura. Sorely disappointed, Lyanna had to make do with an unremarkably plain woman, noteworthy for a lack of any and all extraordinary traits. Certainly, her hair held a fair amount of reddish strands amid its otherwise earthy tones; but that was all. No matter; it was her fault for having expected to be entertained during her stint at court. She ought to have known that since no one made mention of Lady Jenny, as she was at times mockingly called, being in possession of striking looks, she was likely not.

"How was your journey?" the younger woman asked, indicating that Lyanna ought to take her seat. "The roads, as I've heard it, are in poor state."

Rain, sleet and healthy frost, and all of them in close succession. No wonder the roads were in poor shape. "I try not to complain; my lord father saw that I was as comfortable as I could possibly be."

"Northerners are nothing if not thorough," the Queen allowed, her expression losing some of its cheeriness. "I imagine 'twas why the response to my letter was delayed. Your father must have thought long upon the matter."

* * *

Sawolfyr stretched wide wings as though in preparation for flight. Rhaegar simply rubbed at the side of her neck, praising her softly enough that no one might hear. He dismounted, glancing about in search of his mother. What he did see, though, was his grandmother.

He offered her a courtly bow, though he did not go as far as to kiss her beringed hand. "I quite despaired of having you back with us," the older woman said, gifting him one of those smiles she reserved for those moments in which she was pleased. Rhaegar could only wonder what manner of mischief he was to untangle next. "Now, pet, shake the dust from your shoulders and pay my words heed."

"But of course, Your Grace." Had Duncan stirred trouble for grandfather with the Stormlords yet again? He did not particularly relish another run-in with Steffon Baratheon. The man was fair, aye, but as sharp as any blade he'd come across and not like to be taken in by a few pretty words. At least he was not half as bad as Lord Tully. That one could not be pleased. His stomach soured at the thought of Lord Tully and his two daughters. Not that he held any grudge against the girls, for he was certain they were goodly maidens; their father, however, had best pray whatever good-son took him on had a head for intrigue, else he wound find his lifespan severely shortened.

"Your mother is not best pleased with the Queen, that I can tell you." His steps checked at the words. But if grandmother saw it, she did not pause. "You know Her Majesty had it in her head to call Lord Stark's daughter to court. I daresay she hoped one of the younger girls might make a companion of her." He nodded. He'd heard as much. "There is but a small problem." He cocked his head to the side. "You are aware your uncle's relationship with Rogers' widow took a turn for the worst. Well, he has decided making calf eyes at the woman's niece is the perfect ointment for his wounds."

"Her niece?" He did not imagine Lady Rogers took the slight too well. For a brief moment, his brain conjured the image of a buxom servant girl thrown into the hallway with an angry statuesque woman towering over her, a river of oaths beating down upon the crying wench. Rhaegar shuddered. "Poor girl."

"Poor girl indeed. She has taken refuge with your mother-for you know how Rhaella's sweet nature has her helping out whenever she can-but that begets its own host of troubles." Grandmother cleared her throat softly. "You know how your father dislikes being outdone by his kin. Once he heard the poor dear came into your mother's keeping, he near tripped all over himself trying to get close to her."

"Fascinating as the situation is, grandmother, I do not know why I must know of it. The lady is not like to escape unscathed. She will have to choose one or the other." He felt sorry for the girl, but it was truly none of his business whom Lord Stark's daughter entertained.

"We were thinking that she would not," the woman disagreed, eyes meeting his. Rhaegar's gaze turned sharp upon her. He did not like the look upon her face. Not at all. "Come, you are a knight, and she a lady. It is only right that her plight should touch your heart."

The only thing the girl's plight touched was a nerve.

* * *

Lyanna shuddered as though someone had stepped upon her grave. She'd been hard at prayer, begging the old gods and the new alike that she would not become a means to shame her family. Though she'd written to father, and she knew either he or Brandon would eventually come, her instincts told her it would be much too late.

It was all auntie's fault. If she hadn't goaded the younger Duncan none of it would have come about. How she loathed that woman. She was not contended to whore to her heart's content but had to drag her into the mire as well. And put her in the path of Prince Duncan the Younger. At least Prince Aegon hid naught of his nature and one could smell the stench of decay upon him and see the signs of illness from miles away. Her lips thinned until she thought the pressure might break skin.

"I see you cannot concentrate at all," Princess Rhaella said upon a sigh. She put down her cards. "There now, child; it will all turn out well, you shall see." She wanted to believe her. But what chance did she stand against princes of the realm.

Before she could speak though, the door opened to admit a yet unknown figure. To Lyanna's chagrin she found herself releasing a long breath of relief. The young man had the look of a Targaryen and at a guess, she'd say he was the Princess' eldest son.

"Rhaegar," his mother greeted, jumping to her feet and trotting towards him so as to wrap him in an embrace.

"Lady mother," he answered warmly. There was no discernible emotion she could attribute to him, but his eyes were warm. Until they fell upon her, their gleam turning speculative. She had the faint notion that he was assessing her.

"How rude of me," the Princess laughed, "I have all but forgotten about you, my dear." She turned to Lyanna and beckoned her to a standing position. "Son, this is Lady Lyanna Stark." She dared a small nod towards him while he busied himself searching his mother's face when it turned to him. "And I should be most glad if you did her the great favour of giving her the protection of your name."

Her heart stopped. She had assumed they meant to have the Prince escort her home. Or some such scheme. Not marriage. "Your Grace," she found herself protesting before she could bite her tongue.

"Methinks the lady doth protest a tad much, given the circumstances. Shall you wait until either my sire or his cousin father a child upon you?" She gaped. "You'll find the pickings to be slim for a woman who is full of a bastard. Be it a royal bastard." Never in all her life had anyone spoken to her so discourteously.

The most troubling part was that the vile man was not wrong.

Furthermore, the Prince turned on his heel and she did not doubt he would have left had she not cried out, " _Your Grace!"_ He paused and turned his neck enough that she could make out half his face. "Your manner is most insulting, your address coarse and your finesse lacking. Were I less desperate, I should rather die than accept your aid. But I am _desperate._ "

She hoped he knew what it cost her to humble herself before him in such a manner.

"Nevertheless," he spoke, his voice smooth, reminiscent of his father's, "I am not, lady."

"I do not believe you would be so mean-spirited as to hold my rash reaction against me. 'Tis simply that I'd not heard of the plan before, and it did rather take me by surprise." She made a thoughtful sound, trying to stall. "The solution is not displeasing to me, and I should make you a good wife, if you but allow it."

The daughter of Lord Stark, descendant of kings, bartering like a common fishwife. The gods were laughing themselves silly, she did not doubt. "I will be forever grateful to you." To his face. In her mind she was quite content to curse him to the devil.

The Princess sat down upon her stool once more, picking up her cards. She seemed to be enjoying her game, ignoring her. Lyanna swallowed. "Surely you understand what a favour you would be doing me." How she hated that her voice trembled. He was facing her, listening with a serene countenance. The wretch. "I will do my best by you, Your Grace, to see that my debt is repaid."

Interest flickered to life upon his face. "And how do you mean to repay me, lady?"

"In the manner a wife repays her husband."


	2. Chapter 2

Grandmother had insisted that he come sit by her while his mother eased his newly-betrothed's nerves. While Rhaegar could not say he blamed her, one could expect she would show some deference to her means of salvation. A wife's manner of reward for his aid, she'd said; he found that hard to believe. "Do not look so put out," Shaera Targaryen chided, her dark eyes lit with humour. Presumably she found amusement at his predicament.

"Grandmamma, I assure you, I am the picture of contentment," he drawled, knowing full well she would not buy into it for a moment.

"Ungrateful brat," the woman said without fire. "You are very fortunate, don't you know?" He raised his eyebrow at her. "Very well, grandson; I shall draw the list for you. Although, between the two of us, all this should be very clear to you. Lady Lyanna comes from a respectable, old and powerful family, and her connection is to the main line," he nodded, "she has been educated according to her station an took well to it for I've heard her read," again, he could do naught but approve, "her mind is lively, her demeanour pleasant. The lady has three brothers, all of them surviving and in good health. Her mother did not die in childbed." That was no guarantee. One had to but look at the younger Duncan. "Your mother took her to the orphans and said she acquitted herself well, thus I must presume her manners are as charming as the rest of her." That was just as well. "And most importantly, she comes with a large dowry."

"Grandmamma!" That was positively obscene. He sighed and combed his fingers through his hair. "The poor girl thinks you are trying to help her, not fleece her."

"What fleecing?" she demanded, quick to chastise him for his outburst. "She's not a nitwit. Of course she knows we are not helping her for nothing. And it is a fair trade." Red-faced, the matronly figure of his grandmother wagged her finger at him. "Don't think you don't cost us good coin, boy, and we can't be expected to carry you your whole life." He flushed in indignation. But at the same time his grandmother's countenance softened. "Were my husband still alive, might be it would be different. But my son hasn't the head for it and your mother, may the Seven keep her, is a goodly, practical soul who hasn't the tongue for it, I fear. Do not mistake my nephew; he has both the mind and the tongue to cause you trouble."

"And Lyanna Stark can help with that?" Not to disparage the lady, but she did not seem the sort to pick foolish fights, which would be precisely the case were she to engage Duncan. Was that not why she sought to wed him in the first place?

Shaera tittered. "You young men spend too little time around proper ladies and too many hours in brothels." This time he blushed for something other than anger. "Someone like Lady Lyanna does not share herself with all men. That includes the good and the bad. Being your wife will give her courage she might otherwise lack. Just as being a wedded man will give you a reason to exercise restraint."

"Restraint," he echoed. "I was not aware my actions lacked restraint." Were he any more lacking in restraint he would have plunged a sword down Duncan the Younger's throat years ago.

"Come, boy. You aren't a green lad, and it is past time you wed. Lady Lyanna is the sort of woman I feel you could appreciate." He'd certainly seen other women to match her, he though; except for in rudeness, might be, and pride.

"Is there anything I ought to know about her?"

Grandmother gave him a sharp look. "If you mean whether my nephew or your father reached her; nay. Have no fear on that account. The girl is as pure as newly driven snow." Starks and snow. Rhaegar almost laughed. "Don't give me that look. You are not old enough that you might get away with it yet."

"I knew you were as spry as ever."

"I do beg of you, don't show me your cheek. You are not to divert me."

He shrugged. "Very well, grandmother. And when am I to take this lady to wife?"

"This evening. I have arranged with His Majesty; you need but call two of those friends of yours to witness, if you can manage it." He nodded dutifully.

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense to him. Both himself and the prospective bride had been caught, more or less, unawares. Naturally, she would be discomposed. She was young, and might be a tad naive. Not her fault and no reason to think ill of her. "I will endeavour to make this as easy as I possibly can for her."

"Good. She shall make you a good wife, grandson. If it were not so, do you think your mother and I would have suggested it?" Rhaegar shook his head. "If you but give her the chance, she will prove herself."

"I am not unwilling."

"And you must promise to be a good husband in return." Wide-eyed, he gaped at his grandmother. "Aye; you are doing her a favour by wedding her now, but she will pay it back with her dowry. The rest is for you to decide. You may live your lives as stalks thrown together, or you may build a life of your own. Do you understand what I am saying?"

"I understand." When his grandmother made up her mind, it was best to let her do as she would. Lady Lyanna was a good choice, his first reaction notwithstanding.

"Best you be off now and find those friends of yours before they drain the cellars."

Laughing at the slight pinch of annoyance in her voice, he drew to his feet and bent over her hand. "I'll make certain they're sober enough to stand up with me."

"You do that."

Rhaegar did not wait to find Dayne. And indeed his companion had absconded with a servant girl at the end of the stables. The young woman yelped at the sight of him and drew up the linens to cover her bare chest, slapping a hand to Arthur's shoulder. His friend laughed and pushed her back into the bed of hay with a low curse. He left her in the half-shadows and followed to where the light shone.

"You have the worst timing," Arthur accused. "Unless you were looking for companionship. In which case, I don't think Rosy would mind. Would you, Rose?" The girl produced a half-strangled sound, which Arthur rewarded with a warm chuckle. "See; she's a sporting sort."

Rhaegar allowed his gaze to travel over the dishevelled servant. She beamed up at him, showing slightly crooked teeth. But otherwise, her countenance was pleasant enough, with freckled skin and dark blonde tresses. She allowed her chemise to drop some at his obvious attention. But he merely nodded at her before turning his eyes towards Arthur. "Daresay if I begin my marriage in the arms of another woman, my grandmother will take my head."

"Beg your pardon?" the knight choked. "Marriage?" Then he laughed as though Rhaegar had told him the best jest he'd ever heard. "Trying to pull my leg, old boy. It won't work."

"As it happens, I am not," Rhaegar assured him. "I will send a squire to retrieve you, but it'll be sometime after the supper meal, to my understanding. Be ready." He glanced towards the girl. "You," he addressed her, "do not let him outstay his welcome."

"Aye, Y'er Grace," she answered, nodding her head for emphasis.

But Arthur was apparently not pleased with the conclusion for he neglected to return to his woman. "You can't just tell a man you're getting married and then be off."

"I can't?"

"You know what I mean! Good gods, who is she? Do I know her?"

"If you knew her, I would not contemplate wedding her."

"Very amusing." Hands on his hips, Arthur demanded an explanation. "Do not think you are leaving until I am satisfied I understood what is going on."

"Father's beard; we'd be here until nightfall." Arthur remained unimpressed. "Very well then. I will explain." Drawing him closer, Rhaegar spoke low enough so as to not be overheard. "Apparently, my grandmother and my mother wish me to rescue a fair maiden from the attention of two surly dragons. One of which is my father."

"What?" His friend cursed. "You're not thinking of going along with it, are you?"

"I am." The other stared at him with no small amount of shock. "I'll have to wed sooner or later. Best take a wife they approve of and skip the embarrassment of squabbling like children."

"But who is she?" Arthur insisted.

"Lyanna Stark. I very much doubt you've had dealings with her."

Meantime, Rose had made herself decent enough to step out of the shadows. "Lady Lyanna?" she muttered, her face relaxing in a sort of pleased look. Arthur caught that and did not hesitate to question her reaction.

"Do you know her, Rosy?"

"Oh, aye. A lady from the savage North though she might be," the servant girl shrugged, "she is finer than many a court lady, if you ken my meaning, m'lord."

"How so, Rosy?" Rhaegar questioned, curious as to what someone like her might know of his betrothed. He sent an apologetic look to his friend, but Arthur was as curious as him.

"Hetty, m'sister, serves with the ladies, m'lords," she bragged with a wide smile, as though such an accomplishment was like to impress them, "and she sees all. I tell you this in the greatest of confidences." Her gaze dropped as uncertainty furrowed the lines of her brow.

"Never fear, Rosy, we shan't betray you. Speak freely."

"Hetty told me that one of the other girls, Gilly, had been sent to grab the linens for washing. The poor thing was so ill that day that she gave herself away, sickening all over one of m'lady's dress which her woman had left out. A pretty one too, Hetty said. M'lady, who had just then returned to her chamber, caught the moment. You can imagine the dread following." Despite the triviality of the information, Rhaegar found himself leaning in. "Something the like happened to another girl a few years back and she was whipped; hard. Gilly knew and expected as much. So she falls to her knees, ready to beg m'lady's leniency. But lo', no sooner than she understood the matter, m'lady called for her own woman and had her help Gilly in a chair. Poured her a cup of wine too. Arbour." Most servants rarely tasted such. "So she asks Gilly if she should call the maester for her. Gilly protests. It isn't the thing at all. But m'lady insists, so her woman suggests they get an acolyte. Said and done. And m'lady had the acolyte look at Gilly then and there and give her something for her stomach. She even paid from her own coin."

"Well, Rosy, I never heard you speak half so well about any other lady," Arthur cajoled. "You ought to beg His Grace to put in a good word for you to his lady."

"Don't jest," Rose protested, looking for all the world as though she would like naught better but to hit her lover again. "Not many of us are as lucky as Bailey. Why, if I could work for a mistress like the Northerner lady, I should happily scrub the floorboards."

Whatever the truth of it, clearly the girl's opinion was to the positive. He considered her for a few silent moments during which all attention reverted to him. "I doubt my lady has any floors for you to scrub, but she will likely need more hands to help her. Where do you work?"

"The kitchens, Y'er Grace." Her face was positively radiant.

Rhaegar nodded. "Dayne, find Lonmouth and Mooton when you're done here."

"Both?"

"Aye; I daren't call one without the other."

With that, he turned on his heel and left, not before catching the beginning of a giggle. His pace hastened, lest he hear aught he did not want to. Best to be well away, he thought to himself.

* * *

Duncan Targaryen envied everyone everything. He envied his father the high position as Crown Prince and when his brother had been well, he'd envied the man his chance at power. He envied his cousin those sons of his. Miscarriage after stillbirth after miscarriage, and Aerys still managed to have two sons. Two more than Duncan. He envied others' monies and youth, their chance to climb up into the world when he'd been stuck in the same positions for decades.

At the moment though, what galled him beyond the power of words, was his inability to pin that little Northerner maiden down.

Acid burned low in his gut at the sight of his father and grandfather, heads bent in discreet conversation. He wanted to know what was said and what decisions were reached. More importantly, he wished he were the one making those decisions. Alas, both men seemed in their best of health. The only mercy was that his brother lied even at the moment at death's door and the maesters fully expected to receive news from Dragonstone.

He had little doubt their talk had turned to Lord Stark's daughter. Trying to place her in such a position that she'd be untouchable. For the moment he was content not to press the matter. Branda had been incensed, crying and screaming like a madwoman, calling the girl all manner of names to his ever increasing amusement. She'd made his promise he would leave her be. But at some point he would wish to see the matter to an end. And when he did, the proud little thing would find her consequence ground along with that unseemly contrarian element to her nature.

Grabbing hold of his dragon, he removed Aerys' elephant with a small smile, looking into his cousin's face, fully expecting to see frustration in full bloom. His cousin did not disappoint, however, there was something else there as well. A sort of muted triumph. "I draw near to your king yet again," he spoke nevertheless, keeping close watch over the man.

"Never you fear, cousin, I've skill enough to defend my king." Aerys' ivory catapult rid the board of the onyx dragon. "I take it you are still somewhat distracted, Duncan?" The soft tone of voice did not bode well. Duncan narrowed his eyes in an icy glare. "I don't blame you. Heard your Branda screaming fit to wake the dead myself. If you were a smart man, you'd cut out her tongue."

"Don't you ever long for some spice with your bland stew?" he questioned, shrugging at the satisfied look Aerys sported. Of course the man had his many amours to fall back on in times of need, should his wife bar him from her bed, and even if she did not. "I let her vent her spleen, so to better sweeten her after." Had she not been as barren as the Dornish deserts, he might have wedded her too. He removed Aerys' dragon with a trebuchet.

"I suppose that is a method." He was close to the King once more. Duncan considered his cousin as Aerys put a heavy horse as guard to the prize. His defence would not hold out for long, he knew. Still, his cousin carried himself with dignity in the face of his inevitable loss. Years ago when he'd first learned the game, and Aerys with him, he recalled the man flipping the board over when he lost to Tywin Lannister. "If I were you, though, I would turn my attention to siring sons. Unless, of course, you mean for Daella to inherit."

"Heavens forbid," he chuckled. Daella was a sweet girl and a good daughter, but if she sat the throne, the lords would squabble over who would next crawl into her bed. Besides, she was barren as well. If her short marriage was not proof enough, then her many indiscreet affairs certainly made up in that regard. "The realm would burn."

Had Daeron lived matters would have been much different. Daella's twin, the heir his father always wanted, snatched away by a chill of all things, had been a babe-in-arms at the time of his death. There was ever so rarely any guarantee with children. The hand of the Stranger lurked about, fingers splayed wide apart, searching for the next victim to snatch. How Betrys had wept for their son.

He supposed the mistake had been his. Though Betrys was a Hightower, a descendant of Garmund and Rhaena, she'd been one of seven children where only one had been a boy. But who could blame him? Shining with a sweet light all of her own, the young girl had been everything a young prince's wife ought to be, kind, considerate and graceful. The only accusation he might bring to her was that she never quite managed to give him another son after Daeron. She had gifted him daughters aplenty though. Daella, Mylisant, poor Ailith, who had died within a year of her birth, and, last but not least, Jenny. Theirs had been a passionate union until her death in childbed.

Older and a little wiser when his sight landed upon Metylda Mullendore, he had been relieved to find she had two older brothers and an older sister, all of whom had sons of their own. Tylda, may the Mother grant her mercy, had been as plain of face as she was mischievous of heart. And the gods knew her face had been very plain. But one conversation, quite by chance, was all it took to reveal to him a lively mind behind her unexceptional visage. In other words, Tylda had been everything sweet Betrys had not, though he rarely admitted that to himself. With her he'd found another kind of passion; they spoke long into the night, their love of the arts leading to more than one heated debate.

Tylda had given him but three children. The first had been Valerion whose life had been as short as that of his namesake. Then had come Aelor, a boy whose nature was as mischievous as his mother's and ended with him somehow falling out of his cradle, hitting his head on the edge of a dais. The maesters could not save him. But that was after his mother's death. Tylda's last child was Ascelina, who'd survived both brothers and her mother. The last birth had weakened poor Tylda and she died within the moon turn of her daughter's birth, of a chill.

"Then you had best produce an heir." As his cousin spoke, Duncan had the heavy horse removed by his other dragon.

The trouble was that while he was not incapable of marital congress, the idea of taking another wife sat ill with him. Tylda had shown him that love could come again if he allowed it, yet to install another mistress in chambers that had been hers, to see another woman in her bed and long for the conversation they'd held well into the night. Duncan did not consider himself a sentimental fool. In all other respects, he had removed any and all traces of his first two wives.

"Might be you've the right of it." But then his cousin would not make such a suggestion out of the goodness of his heart. "Don't tell me, though, you mean to offer me someone." Aerys moved the rabble to the side. His king was open to attacks. "I do not think I could bear it." He conquered the ivory monarch, finishing the game.

"I daresay, you know better than I what you need in a woman, Duncan. However, if you are inclined to listen to advice, my suggestion is to seek a young, healthy bride. A Frey might be. Think of all the little children."

"A broodmare." He was not entirely opposed to it. "I'll consider the matter, cousin. But for now, I am more than pleased in my current state." Aegon might still survive, drat him. There had been so many of these false alarms as of late. It would not be seemly to rush into marriage. "Speaking of fine, young ladies; where is the Lady Lyanna? I thought your wife had her keeping her company."

Amusement flickered upon his cousin's face. "Being interrogated over a hand of cards, as I understand. Mother is adamant that the girl share with her all about the North. As though she cares one whit about the savage lands beyond the Neck."

"Is there any chance we'll see her in the great hall, do you think?"

"I would not count on it. They're on to our game, after all."

"A pox upon it. A man can no longer wench in peace for interference of his kin."

Aerys laughed. "I'll see if I can convince Rhaella to bring the girl down. She can't stay locked in those chambers forever; now, can she?"

Duncan did fear that the minds of women were addled, though; particularly the minds of women in his family. The Seven knew what they could do if they took to a task. He flashed a wide smile to his cousin before standing. "If you don't mind, I'm for the dragon pit."

"Pleasant ride."

A little exercise would work well to excise his pent up dissatisfaction.

* * *

She had brushed her hair for the seventh time. Lyanna put down her comb and fiddled with a bit of string escaping an embroidered flower before she could catch herself and deposit her hands in her lap. The Princess had been gracious and allowed her to remain within her chambers with her servant girl. Lyanna did not precisely know how she would repay the woman, especially considering she'd also been responsible for all the good fortune come her way. The only way she could think was to promise to her as well that she would be a good wife to her son.

"M'lady, you should eat a little," Bailey encouraged. "Your look is as pale as death, 'pon my word." She held the tray up for Lyanna to inspect. "At least a bit of bread and cheese, m'lady. You don't want to be getting sick." That was certainly true. She forced herself to take a small piece of cheese and nibble on it. The taste hardly mattered. It was as tough she chewed on ashes. "Don't be thinking so hard, m'lady. It can't do too much good."

Bailey had the right of it. Lyanna knew it did not help matters, but the only other option was to run about screaming. She was going to wed a man she'd never met before this day, share a bed with him and the gods knew what else. If it were only a matter of her keeping company with him, she might not have taken it so. But then she reminded herself he might have laughed at her plight and sent her tumbling into the awaiting arms of hardly kind men. He could not be all bad. And if he were the reprobate, as the heir apparent, then surely she would have heard.

"Tell me, Bailey, how long have you served here?"

"A good number of years, m'lady. Started out washing linens." She looked upon her then. Bailey was not in the first flush of youth, but she was not all that old either, by Lyanna's reckoning. "It must be two scores of years by now, lady." Kind eyes encouraged her without words.

"Do you know, then, the measure of my betrothed?" Her stomach squeezed. She just wanted someone to tell her she was not making a mistake.

"Know him? Aye, how could I not?" The servant woman put the tray upon the stool. "He spent almost all his years here, m'lady, before he began aiding His Grace the Crown Prince in running the other seat." He ran Dragonstone? So that was why the thing didn't fall in a heap of rubble around its master's ears. "And a good hand he is at it too. When Her Grace went there she took me with." Lyanna nodded.

"And the servants? How does he treat the lower orders?" A small smile twitched to life upon the woman's lips.

"You are not to be part of the lower orders, m'lady. Begging your pardon for speaking out of turn." She curtsied.

Before Lyanna could put another question in, the door opened to admit Princess Rhaella, who busied herself with shooing her women away. "Just do as I said," she spoke over their soft words. Then, turning towards Lyanna, she tsked. "I knew I should have stayed behind. My poor dearling, you've hardly eaten a bite. Bailey did I not say to feed her?"

"Your Grace, the fault lies with me," Lyanna quickly interjected. "I simply cannot swallow another morsel." The cheese would have to tie her over.

"Well, well," the Princess allowed, moving past the servant woman and bending to press a soft kiss to Lyanna's cheek. "You cannot blame a mother for worrying. And do not be too shocked. I have decided that a good-daughter is no different from a daughter. After all, I am to guide you through this, my sweet, as there is no one else to do it properly."

Bailey left them at the nod of the Princess. Lyanna was not entirely surprised to be uprooted from her seat and placed upon the edge of the bed. The Princess sat down next to her. "My dear child, you must be honest with me; have you ever known a man?"

Instinctively she knew the meaning was not as innocent as it might seem. "Known a man?"

"Have you lain with a man is what I'm asking."

Her face exploded in a rush of crimson she did not doubt. "I am a maiden," she managed past the thickening of her own tongue. She considered explaining that her aunt's actions had naught to do with her and bore no special meaning as to the climate she'd been raised in. "I would not dare..."

"Pray do not be cross with me," the older woman spoke sweetly. "I had to know, you see, for I must explain to you what goes on between a man and woman if you do not know."

"I know that whatever goes on between man and wife yield in children," she said. That was the extent to which the maester had explained the matter to her, promising that one day she would have her fill of knowledge upon the subject with a rather wicked wink.

"You are correct, of course." She breathed out in relief. "But there are some parts to it which may seems strange to you." Lyanna simply nodded her accord to proceed. "You see, when a man and woman come together, he will put that part of him which is different within that part of her which has been created to receive it." That, at least, she'd guessed from catching the barnyard beasts. It did not look comfortable. "You will lie on your back for this." Her eyebrow rose. "I expect you've seen the mating of beasts once or twice. Unlike them, for us it is more comfortable if we lie back."

"I see." She did not.

"The first time there is some pain, but you mustn't mind it. 'Tis only this one time, for your maidenhead will be broken. My advice is to take a fortifying cup of wine." The Princess smiled. "But even if you shouldn't, the act can be quite pleasant when your partner shows enough consideration."

How would she know if he did? "What a look you have about you, child. You truly need not be afraid. If your own mother were here with you she would tell you the same. Do you believe your lord father would knowingly harm his lady wife?"

"Nay." She felt her face heat up yet again.

"Might be 'tis better I tell you. A mother should never wish to imagine her daughter in such a position," the Princess mussed. "Well, beyond that, it has been my observation that men have a fondness for breasts." Was it too much to ask the earth to swallow her up, Lyanna wondered. "If he should be desirous to touch you there, leave him be. It hurts nothing and could even prove pleasing. Other forms of petting might be involved, for men are such that they need the constant touching."

Swallowing her nervousness, she somehow managed to ask, "Am I expected to," she trailed off, licking her lips hesitantly, "return the attention?"

"Heavens; I daresay he'll be in raptures if you do. Most men are." The trouble was she hadn't the faintest if she was brave enough to even look at him, knowing what she knew. Touch her breasts indeed, she scoffed. The Princess laughed and stroked her hair. "But if you do not feel comfortable, I don't doubt he will understand. It saddens me that you were not given the chance to know one another better; if I could provide, have no doubt that I would."

"Your Grace is most kind." Positively killing her by being so accommodating.

"Is there anything else you wish to ask me?"

Lyanna considered asking for a horse and a few men to return her to her father. Just as quickly she slammed the lid over that thought, locking it away in a dark corner. "I do believe I have all the knowledge I need."

"Very well then. Let us garb the bride then and we shall go to His Majesty."

The idea the King knew tonight she would be losing her maidenhead brought a wave of nausea over Lyanna. She choked back hysterical laughter and stood to her feet. Time to pay the piper.


End file.
